by Mia Sheridan
She looked away from him, out the front window, feeling empty suddenly, drained of the intense joy she’d been feeling the last few days as she’d basked in the knowledge that she’d found her son, that she was getting him back. She sighed, shook her head, but squeezed Zach’s hands before letting go. “I need to go home. And . . . I need to be alone, Zach. I need that, just for a couple of days.”
His gaze shot to her then. “You can’t be alone. He’s out there.”
Her heart sped. In her short haze of happiness, the whirl of meetings, and information, and planning and dreaming, she’d almost convinced herself Charles Hartsman was gone for good. But she knew very well Reagan was still out there, still counting on the police to find her. Zach had been working around the clock following each flimsy lead they had. The police were currently searching every empty or abandoned house in the city of Cincinnati but hadn’t hit on anything yet.
“I have an alarm now,” she said. “I’ll be okay. Send officers if you have to, but I need to be by myself.” He looked at her knowingly. She didn’t mean by herself. She’d have officers guard her because her safety was still at risk. What she meant was she needed to be without him.
For now. Just for now.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Josie stood back, checking that the picture she’d just hung was straight, adjusting it slightly and then standing back again. It looked so strange, the sight of the painting of a flower field where before her board had hung, littered with lists and numbers, and signifying the hope she’d held in her heart for eight long years. The dream that had finally come to fruition. Her son had been found. He was coming to live with her. That board was a relic of the past. She no longer needed it.
She turned, leaving her room and walking to the bedroom next door, the one she’d been working on for two days to set up for Caleb . . . Reed. She had to start thinking of him as Reed.
She’d called Rain and invited her over for a visit, desperate to keep busy, distracted. There was still no news on Reagan, and her heart was breaking. What had started out as a somewhat awkward visit over coffee and cake had quickly and naturally turned into a gab fest—and a bit of a cry fest—and Josie had given her the rundown about what was going on in her life, unbelievable as it was. Rain had seen the story on the news, of course, and though she was shocked, she was also incredibly supportive. Josie was so glad she’d reached out, confided in her, made a new friend. Rain had offered to help with the room, and as they’d worked, she’d told Josie the details of her own life, her recent divorce, how her husband had been physically abusive toward her, how she’d packed up her car, driven to her mother’s, and never looked back. How she, too, was starting over in Oxford.
Rain was the first friend Josie had made in eight long years, and she felt a tension loosen inside her with the newly forged bond. The reminder of how important women are to each other.
Together, they’d removed the more feminine décor items Josie had had in the room . . . the floral paintings, the antique, ceramic pitcher and basin that had been on the dresser. They’d painted the walls a blue gray and replaced the pale pink and green quilt that had covered the bed with one Josie had found in the attic done in blues and whites. It was perfect. Reed had plenty of space to add his own special items.
Josie sat down on the bed, her hand running over the hand-stitched fabric. Her mind drifted to the quilt Marshall . . . no Charlie had thrown in the warehouse cell where she’d given birth, the quilt she’d used to wrap around her newborn infant after she’d first held him.
She clenched her eyes shut, drawing in a shuddery breath. She was alone now, no chatter distracting her from her own thoughts and suddenly, her chest ached. She felt so deeply unsettled and she didn’t know why. She should be overjoyed, shouldn’t she? Here she was, preparing the room where her son would sleep. The ending to her long search that she’d only dared to dream of. It was just nerves, she told herself. It was going to be a difficult adjustment, and she had to be realistic about that. But it would get better. For both her and for Reed. It had to. It had to.
She heard her cell phone and stood quickly, walking back to her bedroom and looking at the number. Unknown. Frowning, she connected the call.
“Hello?”
“Hi Josie, it’s Graham Hornsby.”
Her lawyer. Josie tensed slightly. Was something wrong? Something regarding Reed? “Hi, Mr. Hornsby. Is everything okay?”
“Yes, everything’s fine,” he assured her. “Right on track. I met with the Davies earlier.” Josie released a breath. “The reason I’m calling . . . Josie, I shouldn’t be telling you this, but—”
“What?” She sat up straighter, worry thrumming through her once more. “Is Reed okay?”
“Yes, sorry, he’s just fine. He’s at a baseball game. His team is playing against a Cincinnati team. He’s . . . he’s very close to where you are, and I shouldn’t be saying anything at all, but”—he released a long breath—"I have children myself, grandchildren. I can imagine . . .”
Josie blinked. “I can go watch?”
There was a pause. “You can’t let him see you. You have to promise that.”
She shook her head, gripped by excitement. To see her son in person. Not in a still photograph. But in person. Right up close. Her breath caught. “Yes, yes, I promise. I won’t let him see me.”
She heard him exhale into the phone. “I could . . . get in trouble for even mentioning this to you—”
“You won’t, I promise.” She cast her eyes to the side. “I’ll call my friend Rain. I’ll see if she can help me.”
“All right.” Mr. Hornsby sounded so unsure, torn, as though he was second-guessing himself and what he’d just instructed her to do. The sweet, fatherly man who’d gotten tears in his eyes when she’d told him of her search for her baby. The man who’d taken her case pro bono after Zach had referred him to her. Zach. At the thought of him, her stomach trembled. God, she missed him. She missed him so much, and she’d pushed him away. It was necessary, but it still hurt. And God, he would blow a gasket if he knew what she was about to do.
“Which field?” she asked quickly before Mr. Hornsby changed his mind. He told her and then she held the phone tightly to her for a moment as though she were squeezing the older man himself. “Thank you,” she breathed. “Thank you so much.”
**********
“You sure this is a good idea, Josie?” Rain asked, pulling into a space at the field where Mr. Hornsby had told her Reed was playing a baseball game.
The lot was full, and she could see that the game was already underway. Her heart beat swiftly, her breath shallow. She was about to lay eyes on her son for the first time in eight years. Maybe it was a bad idea, perhaps she should just wait until he was delivered to her house. But that moment was going to be awkward and emotional, she wasn’t sure how Reed was going to react to her at first, and she just wanted to see him. She ached for it. To soak him in without him knowing for just a few precious moments. That wasn’t so wrong, was it?
She’d told the officers at her house that she was going to take a nap, but then called Rain who had come to her front door and dropped something off under the guise of being neighborly, distracting the officers for a moment while Josie had snuck out and then met Rain down the road. She’d left her phone at home, knowing it had a GPS tracker on it. It was a lot of subterfuge but worth it. She’d only be gone a couple of hours at the most.
Josie craned her neck to see the kids on the field, trying to spot the one who belonged to her as Rain unbuckled Milo from his car seat, got the stroller from the trunk, and met her where she stood. “Ready?” she asked softly.
Josie nodded. She’d given Rain the general breakdown of what was going on. Rain looked worried, but hadn’t argued with her, following the GPS to the address of the field her lawyer had given her.
The entrance to the bleacher seats was to the left and a grove of trees lay to the right. Josie would avoid the crowd of parents clapping in the stands
. She was sure one or both of the Davies were there, cheering on their son. Her son. That twist in her chest again. She pushed it away, bringing her hand to the place under which her heart lay, as though she could massage the unsettled feeling away.
“Oh, crap,” Rain muttered.
“What’s wrong.”
“My bag, it was right here.” She bent, looking under the stroller. She sighed, looking back at the parking lot, pressing her lips together. “I must have left it in the trunk when I was getting the stroller out. It has his snacks, my wallet, everything in it. Meet you there in a minute?” She turned the stroller, beginning to push it back over the asphalt.
Josie nodded distractedly, turning back to the field, her eyes still scanning. She stepped onto the patchy grass, moving toward the fence where she had a good view of the kids. Her heart stalled when she saw the name of the player standing at first base, his back to her, his knees bent as he prepared to catch a ball. Davies. Her heart picked up its beat, pounding heavily now as love, so intense it almost brought her to her knees, filled her soul. She gripped the fence, bringing herself closer, her eyes trained on the little brown-haired boy. The kid who had been up to bat struck out and Reed stood upright, stretching his arms as he waited for the next kid to step up to the plate. He was skinny, but tall, and the sun glinted off the caramel highlights in his hair. His father’s hair. She drank him in greedily. Everything about him seemed like a marvel. His arms. His long legs. Every hair on his head. There were a dozen other kids milling around, and they all had arms and legs and hair too, but something about looking at her son, the child she’d created within her, made such things seem impossibly wondrous.
He was there, in the world, smiling and talking, running and making jokes with other kids, because of her. She’d given him life. That child.
Someday he’d fall in love and have children of his own. The seed of love she’d cultivated for the tiny being within her so many years ago would spread and grow and flourish. Going on and on and on.
Is it enough?
Her heart twisted. She leaned so close she smelled the metallic tang of the chain-link fence. A flash of herself lying pregnant in the warehouse room caused her shoulders to tighten. But the little boy swaying from one foot to the other on the field, leaned forward with his glove ready to catch a baseball, was inextricably linked to the crime committed against her. If she wished it away, it would mean the child she watched—her baby boy—would blink out of existence. And Josie could not wish for that. She could not.
“We made a beautiful boy, didn’t we?”
Josie froze, her breath halting and then rushing out in a gust of terror. Cooper. Charles. He was right behind her, his voice in her ear, the heat of his body pressing into hers. She felt something sharp, digging into her side.
“Do you want to make babies with me, Josie?” he asked, only it was Zach’s voice. Oh God. Horror spiked within her, making her brain buzz. “They’d be beautiful too, don’t you think?”
“I sure do,” he said in Mr. Hornsby’s voice.
A soft mewling sound escaped her lips as she clenched her eyes shut in shame at the sound of the spot-on impersonation. Of course, Mr. Hornsby hadn’t called her. Her upstanding, fatherly lawyer. Of course he wouldn’t instruct her to sneak out of her house unprotected. She’d been an idiot because of her desperation. Her unquenchable need to see her child in person had stolen all her rationale. Blinded her. She’d been tricked. Seduced by the promise of her child up close and personal.
“Or d-do you w-want to make another k-kid with me, Josie? You d-did so well d-delivering him in that w-warehouse all alone. Such a warrior.” Josie’s eyes remained locked on the small body of her boy as he joined the rest of his team, jogging to the dugout.
He sighed, as though he was suddenly weary. When he spoke again, his voice was slightly different than the Cooper she’d known, as though he were finally speaking as himself. Charlie. I’m meeting Charlie. The monster of her nightmares, owner of her scars. “I picked a good family for him. I even followed them around, made sure he wasn’t a fucking cheater. Made sure she was all love and sunshine. She volunteers at a soup kitchen. You believe that shit?” He let out a small laugh but he sounded pleased as it dissolved into a hum. “They’re good people, don’t you think? Solid. Better than what either of us got.”
“Yes. Yes. They’re good people,” she agreed. She shifted, trying to look at him, trying to make eye contact but only catching a glimpse of his profile, the sunlight outlining him in a golden glow. She had a flashback to the moment she’d watched him in her cell as his masked face had gazed at the square bit of light shining in from her prison window. There had been something about the vision that had needled at her, though she hadn’t been able to say what at the time. Now she knew. There’d been something familiar to her in the lines of his face, but not because it was the neighbor she knew in passing. Because it was her friend. Or so she’d believed.
He pressed closer, not allowing her to turn any further. “Charlie,” she said, his name emerging on a whisper. His real name.
His body stilled. Had she made him angry? The bleachers were too far away that anyone sitting there could make out the details of the two of them. To any onlooker who glanced their way, it would just appear as though a young couple had stopped to momentarily watch a kid’s baseball game, canoodling a little by the fence. “You know about me then, do you?”
She nodded. “Yes, I do, and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Something like that should never happen to a child, Charlie. You were victimized.”
“I’m no victim, Josie. You should know that better than anyone. Casus belli, right?”
She cried softly. “Why?” she breathed. “I trusted you.”
She heard a strange hitch in his breath. “That was my mistake, wasn’t it? Becoming friends. Learning how similar we really are. After that, I never could . . . well . . .” He made a clicking sound in the back of his throat.
Similar? No. No. There was nothing similar about them. He hurt others, brutalized people, killed them. Her stomach seized. Where is Rain? Why hadn’t she come back from the car? Had Charlie done something to her? Or had she seen him standing behind her and called the police? “Rain?” she croaked.
“Your friend’s fine. She’ll wake up in a few minutes. Her kid’s strapped into his stroller.” Relief pounded into her and she released a shuddery breath.
Charlie leaned closer. “Do you know what casus belli means?” he asked, his finger moving down her cheek, over the bone of her jaw.
“It casts blame,” she answered, her voice breathy with fear as she pictured the letters carved into her thigh, the scars pink and jagged. Forever part of her.
“Hmm,” he hummed. “Yes, but more than that. It signifies an event that justifies starting a war, my sweet Josie. Only, guess what? The final battle is over now. As in any war, there were many casualties. Some unfortunate, some . . . not.” He pressed his face right against her hair and she heard him inhale. When he leaned back, his words emerged more slowly. “Do you believe that, Josie? That even I find some of the casualties unfortunate?”
“Yes,” she whispered. No. I don’t know. She tried desperately to clear her brain, to focus, to keep him talking until she could figure out how to get away. “What did you mean by final battle?” she asked. Please don’t let it be Reagan. “Where’s Reagan, Charlie? Please tell me.”
He was silent as though considering and Josie held her breath. “I suppose Reagan living a lifetime with that husband of hers, a guy about as interesting as a bag of rocks, is enough punishment,” he said, using Cooper’s tone, the same timbre, before he laughed softly in her ear, his chuckle dying. He paused. “Even the darkest night will end and the sun will rise,” he whispered, his breath hot against her skin before leaning back. Charlie’s voice now. “It’s true, after all, isn’t it?” He paused once more as his body shifted. “We won’t be seeing each other again, you know that, right?”
“What?” The word wa
s mostly breath.
He pointed out to the field where Reed was coming up to bat. Her stomach rolled, chest squeezing tightly. “He won’t turn out like me,” he murmured almost as if speaking to himself.
Whatever sharp object was at Josie’s side was suddenly removed and Charlie was opening her palm, placing the item into it. “I’m rooting for you, Josie,” he said, “just like I was when I watched you climb through that window eight years ago.” And then he was walking away quickly into the grove of trees beyond. In less than ten seconds, he was gone.
She turned around fully, her heart thundering, panic sluicing through her veins. She opened her palm, gasping out a breath of shock at what she saw. It was the same toy she’d used to free herself from that warehouse room. I’m rooting for you, Josie. She blinked, her thumb pressing the button underneath the figure. It collapsed and straightened.
Collapsed and straightened.
Collapsed and straightened.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
“Yo, Cope, officer from District Three is on line one,” the officer answering phones called to him as he walked by, on his way to the break room to warm up his cold coffee.
He frowned as he turned back toward his desk. “Thanks.” He set his mug down amidst the piles of paperwork, connecting line one. “Detective Copeland.”
“Detective Copeland, this is Officer Leone from District Three. We have Josie Stratton here with us.”
Zach sat up stock straight in his chair. “Josie Stratton is being given protection at her home in Oxford.”
“Ah, yeah. I’m going to put Ms. Stratton on the line. She’ll need to fill you in. The entire District Three is on the lookout for the suspect. I put out a citywide call right before I dialed your number.”
Suspect?